Driven
by Snowy Island
Summary: Filled with enraged adrenaline, he kept stepping and swiping, slashing and dodging until a blood flower sprouted on the soldier’s tunic. The sight refueled him in a sick, macabre way.


I wrote this for a Language Arts assignment. Something to do with David and Goliath, but Albel and Fayt are so much better, ne? I also wanted to try something that forced me to rely on description more than dialogue, and this is what came out. Also, I've become obsessive on not using the character's names more than a few times. When you're done, could you tell me how I did with that? I think I'm becoming a pronoun abuser.

POV switches between every paragraph, sorry if it confuses you.

Standard disclaimer applies.

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Lithe and wiry, he couldn't have been much of a fighter, given the sight of him. Circumstance granted the young man otherwise, a simple sword belted to his hip.

The stranger, the enemy with red eyes was standing yards away, booted foot pressing to the youth's companions. His instinct told him to go to her, but intelligence warned him that if he moved, all of their lives were in even more danger. Crimson orbs glaring at the child who dared to face him, his cynical laughter rang the cliffs where their strengths would be tested. This band of thieves, swindling from his king's precious mines! He would make them pay, with his orders, how could he not? But no one had said that he couldn't have fun with them first…And oh, the fun he would have.

"Let her go, I took the ore, fight me." Self-sacrifice, he thought, was his only option. His thumb flicked open the holster to the blade, hands white-knuckled as they grasped it. How soon it was quickly becoming _comfortable_ to have this tool in his hands. Monsters fell when he drew it, soldiers when the need arose. This man was just another soldier, right?

Not just a soldier, no. This man was Albel the Wicked. Countless lives had been lost when his sword was unsheathed, Man or Beast. Adult or child. Innocents. After awhile, it did not matter. Orders were orders, and anyone who got in the way was a maggot in the way of his goal. He drew his weapon then, admiring it's sheen in the dull sunlight. Shifting his foot, he nudged the women aside to take a dash at the child who dared to oppose him.

They rang together like a blacksmith's hammer striking an anvil, the boy wide-eyed when they met. Clashing back and forth in a furious dance, he dodged right then would sidestep again to avoid being jumped on. Merciless as his opponent was, a nation was depending on this boy, and for that he kept moving. Allies swarmed the soldiers who fought with their captain, a strawberry bob and blond ape dashing every which way in his peripheral vision.

"Child, quit while breath still fills you. Easy wins have never been my style." He's paused long enough to utter the phrase, wanting to see the maggot's reaction. The young man clenched his teeth at the indignation, then swept his blade forward desperately.

Filled with enraged adrenaline, he kept stepping and swiping, slashing and dodging until a blood flower sprouted on the soldier's tunic. The sight refueled him in a sick, macabre way.

_Hmm_, so the maggot wasn't as pathetic as he first thought. Feeling the mild pain as metal bit into his shoulder, his sword switched hands to confuse the boy. Emerald eyes glared in a millisecond of indecision, and the next heartbeat he was back in a ready stance.

Slowly and surely, victory was being granted to him. First two wounds, one barely a prick, another dribbling a stain. The third seeped through the soldier's clothes, and the young man could see the lethargy overtaking his powerful enemy. A staggering step here, a shaking grip when he paused too long in battle. His underlings had fallen minutes ago. Finally, when the man had to shake his head as an attempt to clear his vision, the boy struck.

_No, not a mere child_, the soldier thought, his knees giving way underneath. It was his blood that soaked the ground, his sword that had fallen from his grip. Not the young man's. Countless had fallen to him, and now he had fallen to a child. As darkness gripped his ebbing heartbeat, lungs ceasing the rush of air, he couldn't help but think…_My life ended by a maggot._

Breath heavy, pulse hammering, time was of the essence now. Clipping his sword to it's belt, the blond assisted him in gathering the women and retrieved the stolen ore. Wind carried the metallic scent of blood to him, and he shivered, not wanting to turn around, nonetheless doing so. The soldier's corpse lie there, sword nearby. Urging himself to walk away from it, he closed his eyes already trying to forget what had just come to pass.

**"Easy wins have never been my style."**


End file.
